


Legacies

by tabine



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:13:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabine/pseuds/tabine
Summary: "You are our Will of Fire — you are our love."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is mostly intended to be practice at writing young children, and specifically through their perspective (based on certain childhood memories of my own, in addition to my experiences working extensively with infants and toddlers as a daycare teacher, and also as a real-life tutor and teacher person xP), as well as my own personal contribution to the "what if Tenten was pregnant with Neji's child when he died" AU scenario, in addition to a blatant need to see my favorite female _Naruto_ character as a mother. Heh.
> 
> For the sake of reference: according to the approximate canon timeline, roughly fifteen years pass between the end of the Fourth Shinobi War and _Boruto_. I've written this fic to those estimations, albeit over the course of an indeterminate period of time, so if things aren't particularly clear, I apologize — and you can also blame Kishimoto (and, okay, me as well) for all the vagueness. Heh.
> 
> Anyway. This was written mostly for my own gratification, and posted mostly because I got sick of looking at it and forgot exactly where I wanted to go with this (although I'm vaguely tempted to come back to this idea/glorified OC at a later date, if there's enough interest). I sort of lost steam with what I wanted to do with it, though, so. Yeah. Don't read too much into it — even so, please leave a review or comment in your wake if you can! Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Apologies again for the lack of a coherent story and whatnot — as I mentioned previously, this _was_ originally intended to be a much larger and over-arching piece, but, well. Clearly that did not happen at all. Heh. I might come back to this idea again, one day, but for now, who knows? At any rate, thank you again for reading.

> 12022017 | 3022 | one-shot | canon-divergent

* * *

Nana is named for the day of her birth: the seventh day of the seventh month of the year.

That day, people come, and people go; Nana is too young to remember. When at least she and Mother are left alone in the quiet of the sterile white hospital room, the night sky is the color of a fresh bruise, and it is as though all the stars in heaven are shining down upon them with cold fire and distant pride.

Only hours old, and unaware of the circumstances of her birth, Nana says nothing, and merely continues to suckle at her mother's breast in simple content.

* * *

Mother is resolute. Grandfather is silent. Aunt Hanabi bites her lower lip anxiously as Aunt Hinata sits with Nana in a corner of the room, entertaining her with quiet stories and little games, despite the way her pale fingers shake with nerves.

And the Hyuuga Elders watch them all wordlessly, grave and stony-faced.

Finally, the senior-most among them speaks, in a cracked and quivering voice not online the sound of dry river reeds whispering in the wind. "This child, and all others born to those of the branch house, will not be branded."

Relief floods Mother's expression, then, and she bows low, forehead pressed against the floor: first to the line of Elders, and then in turn to Grandfather and Aunt Hanabi. "My thanks," she says simply, her voice hoarse and raw.

Even so, it is enough.

Later that day, they visit the cemetery, where Mother shares the news with Hyuuga Neji, and Nana takes her first tentative, awkward steps before her father's grave.

* * *

This is Nana's first memory of Hyuuga Neji.

It is the day of Aunt Hinata's wedding: they are preparing to leave their small flat above the weapons shop for the ceremony when Mother seems to remember something. She lowers herself onto her knees, and when she and Nana are eye-to-eye, whispers solemnly, "I think we're forgetting someone."

"Who?" Nana asks, curiosity piqued.

Leaning toward her expectantly, Mother merely shrugs. "Guess."

Furrowing her brows with all the seriousness a two-year-old can muster, Nana thinks. Only she and Mother live here, after all — not counting the old tortoiseshell cat that liked to doze in the shadow cast by the front of the shop, sometimes, on days that were particularly hot.

Mother merely watches, waiting quietly until Nana shakes her head slowly, puzzled, before she offers a clue to the identity of this mysterious individual. "They're the person we always say _good morning_ to when we wake up, and _good night_ before we go to sleep."

"Father," comes Nana's answer a heartbeat later, and Mother beams.

"That's right — we can't go to Aunt Hinata's wedding without him, can we?" Nana shakes her head, and Mother nods. "No, we can't. Should we go get him?"

"Okay." Nana takes ahold of Mother's hand, then, and waits for her to stand before leading her across the room, to the small shrine that stands in the corner.

Mother's hand slips away from her, and she's soon crouching at Nana's side once again. "I think Father would like it if you were the one to hold on to him, and bring him to the ceremony. Do you think you can do that?"

Nana nods solemnly, reaching for the framed picture that sits in the center of the shrine with two pale little hands. "I can do it."

"Remember to be careful." Mother reaches out her own hand, but does not take hold of the frame. Instead, her hand hovers steadily alongside Nana's: close enough to provide assistance if needed, but far enough to foster the child's growing independence and confidence.

But the framed picture is not particularly heavy, and it is not long before Nana is holding it at eye-level, and sees her father's face clearly for the first time in her life.

He looks very much like Grandfather, she thinks. Their hair is the same dark shade, worn long and silky-straight, although Grandfather's is lighter, now, and shot through with streaks of silver. Their features are similar, too, all high arches and sharp edges, though time has carved itself into the lines that crease Grandfather's skin, and Hyuuga Neji's remains clear and unblemished.

Nana blinks at the photograph, uncertain — though of what, she cannot say. She is young, after all. She does not know any better.

Quietly, Mother shifts her weight onto her knees, and peers curiously over Nana's shoulder. "Are you ready to go?" she murmurs.

(Later, when she is older, Nana will wonder who it was Mother really asked, that day.)

"I'm ready," Nana replies. She returns to the entrance of the flat with the picture held firmly in her hands, and sets it on the floor carefully before sitting beside it and pulling her shoes on.

Mother joins her a moment later, and waits patiently until Nana finishes, stands, and is holding Hyuuga Neji's picture in her hands once more before she asks again, "Are you ready to go? Aunt Hinata is going to be very mad if we're late, you know."

Nana nods, and Mother scoops her into her arms, pressing kisses to her forehead and cheeks and nose. She giggles in delight, little arms wound tight around Father's picture, and in the midst of breathless laughter Nana tells her parents, "Let's go, let's go!"

Finally, the barrage of kisses ends, and Mother pulls away with a smile, dark lashes glittering and wet. "Alright, _alright_!" she says, and steps toward the door. "We're going."

* * *

Four days before her third birthday, Grandfather takes it upon himself to begin training Nana in the techniques of the clan.

"Your father would be proud." He watches her movements carefully, nodding in curt approval as she shifts seamlessly from one _kata_ to the next. "Clearly, you have inherited his natural genius and skill."

Drawing a deep breath, Nana turns to Grandfather, and bends low at the waist in silent thanks, just as she has been taught. He is looking at her strangely, though, when she straightens, and Nana matches his sharp silver stare as well as she is able, despite the prickle of uncertainty the intensity of his gaze sends along her spine.

Long moments pass in silence between them, until recognition seems to flash in Grandfather's eyes, and he looks away quickly.

"Your father would be proud," he repeats through clenched teeth, and their first lesson comes to an end.

* * *

"He's ugly."

An inelegant splutter bursts from Mother's lips in response to Nana's words, even as Aunt Hinata and Uncle Naruto burst into laughter. "That isn't a very nice thing to say!" she says sternly. "Apologize to your cousin!"

"But he _is_ ," Nana insists. She makes a face at the baby Aunt Hinata is holding delicately in her arms. "Isn't he?"

Uncle Naruto bends down to hoist Nana into his arms with an over-exaggerated puff of air. "Well, I guess you're right — Boruto _is_ kind of ugly right now, isn't he?"

"Naruto-kun!" Aunt Hinata admonishes.

Mother frowns at them, and folds her arms over her chest. "Don't encourage her like that."

"I'm not encouraging anything," Uncle Naruto replies, glancing quickly between Aunt Hinata and Mother before looking back to Nana. "But, you know, all babies are ugly when they're born."

Nana blinks at him in wide-eyed disbelief. "Was I ugly?"

"Yes," comes Mother's immediate answer, "you were — "

Aunt Hinata gasps. "Tenten-san!"

" — but only for a little while." Mother offers Nana a smile, taking a step closer to them. "Uncle Naruto is right, though: all babies are ugly when they're born, but it's not their fault. Right?" She waits expectantly until Nana nods slowly before continuing, "So what do you think you should tell your cousin?"

Nana looks to the hospital bed, where Aunt Hinata holds Boruto in her arms, before she wraps her arms around Uncle Naruto's neck, burying her face against the warm skin in embarrassment. "Sorry," she mutters. "You're not ugly, I'm sorry."

Uncle Naruto gapes at Mother. "How did you do that?"

Mother shrugs, takes Nana from his arms and holds her close. "I'm her mother," she says simply. "Teaching her to be a good person is what I'm supposed to do."

* * *

It is the springtime of her fifth year, when Uncle Lee stops by on the morning she's to start attending the Academy. He's holding a box wrapped in green paper in one arm, and carrying Metal in the other, and his dark eyes are swimming with unshed tears.

"A present for you, my darling lotus, on this most glorious of days!" Uncle Lee all but shouts, thrusting the package at her with exuberance and pride. "The blossoming of your youth must be properly commemorated, after all."

Something warm flutters in her chest, and Nana accepts the gift with all the grace she can muster. "Thank you, Uncle," she says quietly.

Mother eyes the package warily as she takes Metal from Uncle Lee's arms, presses fond kisses to his chubby cheeks. The toddler squirms in her arms and lets out a gurgle of happy laughter. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is."

Uncle Lee doesn't seem to hear. "Go on, my dear!" he urges Nana, grinning wide. "I want to see the youthful expression on your face!"

Wordlessly, Nana complies, and slides her thumbnail beneath the piece of tape holding the green paper together, unwrapping the gift in a matter of seconds to reveal a simple white box. Frowning, she reaches for the lid and lifts it effortlessly in one smooth motion.

Her eyes widen, and beside her, Mother gasps.

Atop a neatly-folded mass of green fabric ("I _knew_ it," Mother mutters over her shoulder, voice thick with tears and fond exasperation) lies a small picture in a plain wooden frame.

Nana's heart stutters in her chest.

She's never seen this picture before, hadn't even known of its existence until this very moment. But there is no mistaking the figures in it: the cheeky curve of the woman's grin, the taciturn fondness and quiet adoration in the gaze of the pale-eyed man beside her. Her heart stutters again with strange and bittersweet emotion as heat begins to burn behind her eyes, and something she can't quite name catches in Nana's throat.

Beside her, Mother clears her throat, fighting back tears that threaten to spill. "When was this picture taken?"

"About a month before the war." Uncle Lee's cheeks are wet with tears, but he doesn't seem to mind. He never does. "Do you remember, Tenten, Ino's birthday party? Someone took a picture of the two of you, there, and asked me to give it to you when I had a chance." He shrugs, smile wavering almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry it took so long."

Mother snorts and brushes past her, wrapping her free arm around Uncle Lee next. "You _idiot_ , what's there to be sorry for?" When she pulls away, Mother's eyes are dry, though there is now a dark spot of wetness on Uncle Lee's shoulder, and she clears her throat once more before turning to Nana. "Well? What are you waiting for — go thank your uncle!"

Carefully, Nana sets the box on the floor before reaching toward Uncle Lee. Her fingers grasp at the material of his own green jumpsuit, and she buries her face in the broad expanse of his muscled chest, wraps her arms about his waist. "It's wonderful, Uncle," she tells him. "Thank you."

* * *

At Hokage-sama's request, Mother agrees to be placed on the roster for active duty once she is certain that Nana has adjusted well to her new routine as a student at the Academy. The missions she's assigned are few and far between, and on these occasions, the shop is closed and locked for the duration of Mother's trips, and Nana is sent to stay with Gai-sensei, who also watches Metal when Uncle Lee is busy or away.

Gai-sensei is a very strange man. He is loud, exuberant, and prone to flowery speeches on the passion of youth, and Mother says he's one of the most drivingly overenthusiastic people she has ever met — even more than Uncle Lee.

Nana does not mind. She loves Gai-sensei anyway, and Metal too, as if they are her own blood, and her studies and training keep her busy enough that the pang of Mother's absence isn't as keen as it might have been otherwise. But even so, on the days when Mother is gone, Nana finds herself at the village gates on her way back to Gai-sensei's home all the same, asking the sentries for any news they might have about her arrival.

"Oh, Nana-chan!" they tell her with happy grins and friendly waves. "Tenten-san isn't back yet — she should be home soon, though, so don't worry!"

And so she takes it all in stride — until the day comes when the smiles are replaced with grave and serious expressions, and Nana feels her heart plummet when one of the sentries doesn't quite look at her and says, "You should go to hospital, Nana-chan."

In the end, it is Gai-sensei who accompanies her to the hospital, and Nana for it is glad: despite Haruno-sensei's reassurance, it is only the comforting and heavy warmth of Gai-sensei's hand on her shoulder that allows Nana to keep the tears at bay at the sight of Mother sleeping soundly in her sterile hospital room, her arms wrapped expertly with clean linen bandages.

* * *

For Himawari's second birthday, Nana gifts her with a giant stuffed panda bear.

The younger girl's eyes positively light up at the toy, the pale-blue ribbon wrapped elegantly around its neck, and she squeals happily, hugging it as fiercely as her little arms are able.

Aunt Hinata tucks her hair behind her eyes and smiles. "Isn't there something you'd like to say, Himawari?" she inquires softly.

Himawari nods, dropping the toy immediately in favor of rushing forward, where Nana crouches before her, and wrapping her arms tightly around her cousin's neck. "Thank you, Nana-nee!"

From the other side of the room, Mother gives her a pointed look. Nana rolls her eyes, but pulls Himawari against her nonetheless, inhaling the scent of sunflowers and lilies. "You're welcome."

* * *

Like her mother, Nana has only ever had one name to call her own. It does not bother her, but she does wonder, and when she thinks to ask, Mother merely slants a curious look in her direction as she locks up the shop for the night.

"It was my way of showing the world that you were mine," Mother replies with a shrug, turning to the stairs leading to their modest flat on the second floor of the building. "Does that bother you? That you don't have your father's name?"

The silence that passes between them, then, is pensive but comfortable. Nana presses her lips together, and considers her response. "No," she answers, at length. "I'm still his child, even if we don't share a name."

Mother laughs softly, at that, reaches out and wraps a muscled arm around Nana's thin shoulders, pulling her close. "I think you're more like your father than your realize," she murmurs, and presses a soft kiss to Nana's dark hair.

* * *

When she trains, Nana prefers by far the heavy weight of steel in her hands, the comforting presence of the scrolls in the holster at her hip, to the deceptively dangerous strikes of empty hands and feet. Even so, she continues to practice the movements of the Gentle Fist under Grandfather's watchful gaze, while Aunt Hanabi and Aunt Hinata, in turn, help her to uncover the secrets of the Byakugan, all at Mother's firm insistence.

"Think of the Byakugan as just another tool in your arsenal," Mother explains, "like your kunai and shuriken. A good shinobi is only as good as their tools and their proficiency with them."

"But what about their weaknesses?" Nana asks. She does not elaborate further. There is no need to, after all; Mother knows well what she means.

Even so, she takes her time to respond. "A good shinobi is only as good as their skills and thinking allow," she repeats, almost cryptically. "It's up to you to decide how best to use what your life has given you, and utilize it to your advantage."

* * *

Years pass. The world spins on. Life continues, and in time, Nana finds herself teetering at the precipice that divides childhood and adolescence.

Examining herself in the bathroom mirror, she frowns.

Her hair is dark and coarse, and she does not wear it loose, preferring instead to tie it up and away from her face in a single tight plait, long enough that the end of it reaches just past her waist. The rounded point of her chin is a strange contrast, she thinks, to the thinness of her lips, the high arches and sharpness of her cheekbones and nose, and the pale ochre-gray shade of her eyes, framed by naturally long and thick dark lashes, seem far too pale against her skin. It is obvious, she thinks, which parent she's inherited her features from, but even so she wonders.

"Who do you think I'm more like?" she asks one day, as she helps Mother take inventory of her current stock. "You, or Father?"

Casting her a quizzical glance, Mother steps back, rests a hand on her waist. "I think you're a good mix of both of us," she answers plainly. One corner of her mouth curves upward, in a good-natured smile, and she raises a curious eyebrow. "Why do you ask? I hope you weren't doubting your parentage."

Nana shrugs, turns back to the shuriken she'd been counting. "I'm just curious."

But Mother does not seem convinced. "Are you sure?" she probes. "No one's said anything to you, have they?"

For a moment, Nana's thoughts turn to things long since passed. She decides they don't matter. "No."

Nana is their legacy, after all. That is all that matters.


End file.
